Worth It All
by Nadreth
Summary: A man with near black hair walked into a small karaoke pub – his name was Francis Doyle. Though he didn't know it at the time, he was going to die the next day. Features: What's Left of the Flag By, Flogging Molly. One Shot. NOT A Songfic.


**Worth It All  
****_By, Tarawen_**

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A man with near black hair walked into a small karaoke pub – his name was Francis Doyle. Though he didn't know it at the time, he was going to die the next day – had he known though, he'd be doing exactly this. 

If asked Doyle would have said that while he wasn't particularly amazing at singing, it was one of his favorite things to do; besides getting drunk.

The man walked to the front of the pub as he often did on a night like this. Doyle looked out across the pub, the smell of beer and cigarettes wafted up towards him. And suddenly he felt good, as if he were back in Europe, drinking with his good buddies before all this demon crap kicked in.

Picking up the microphone Doyle turned the small machine to the song he wanted. He didn't even have to look at the lyrics as one of his favorite songs came on.

"_His eyes they closed  
__and his last breath spoke  
__he had seen all to be seen  
__a life once full  
__now an empty vase  
__wilt the blossums  
__on his early grave"_

Doyle closed his eyes momentarily recalling his old buddies,

"_walk away me boys  
__walk away me boys  
__and by morning  
__we'll be free  
__wipe that golden tear  
__from your mother dear  
__and raise what's left  
__of the flag for me"_

His eyes opened once more as the fiddles picked up pace and the electric guitar began, some might call the band Flogging Molly odd, but to Doyle it was the best thing he'd ever listened to. Jumping up Doyle continued the song.

"_then the rosary beads  
count them 1 2 3  
fell apart as they hit the floor  
in a garb of black  
we must pay respect  
to the color we were born to mourn  
walk away me boys  
walk away me boys  
and by morning we'll be free  
wipe that golden tear  
from your mother dear  
and raise what's left  
of the flag for me"_

For a few minutes the man felt safe in the embrace of the familiar tune, and for just a moment he forgave himself.

_"In its place grew  
an angry festered wound  
full of hatred and remorse  
where I pick and scratch  
till the blood it matched  
silent rage that now fills my lungs  
for there are many ways  
to kill a man they say  
with bayonet, axe or sword  
but son a bullet fired  
from a shapeless guise  
just put the shell of a Thompson gun _

walk away me boy  
walk away me boys  
and by morning we'll be free  
wipe that golden tear  
from your mother dear  
and raise what's left  
of the flag for me"

A true smile broke the mans face as he did a joking jig causing his audience to let lose a hearty laugh.

"_from the east out to the western shore  
where many men and many more will fall  
but no angel flys with me tonight  
though freedom reigns on all  
and curse the name for which  
we slaved our days  
so every men chose Kingdom Come  
But sure as night turns day  
it's the passion play  
oh my god  
what have they done  
with madmen rage  
well the dogged craze  
but the dead rise again you fools"_

Suddenly it hit him with all certainty that he was never going to do this again after tonight, at least not in this life. The man stared out over the crowd a small tear pulled at the corner of his eye, and then it all became clear. He was okay, he wasn't evil, and he sure as hell had done his lot to be forgiven, and most importantly to Doyle – he'd put Angel on the right path.

"_walk away me boy  
walk away me boys  
and by morning we'll be free  
wipe that golden tear  
from your mother dear  
and raise what's left  
of the flag for me _

walk away me boy  
walk away me boys  
and by morning we'll be free  
wipe that golden tear  
from your mother dear  
and raise what's left  
of the flag for me"

The crowd cheered and Doyle bowed before giving into the audiences calls, and gave them an encore. He was going to make this night worth it the man knew. Worth the million laughs he'd missed out on due to his own blindness. Life would be right soon, be he dead or alive in the next few hours, it no longer mattered – all that mattered was that he knew…that he did do some good, and that was always worth something Doyle mused.

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_**A/N:** Well tell me what you think._


End file.
